Such is Life
by Tetiani
Summary: An evolving series of strange little Rent ficletts.
1. Such is Life

Disclaimer: None of them belong to me. *sighs*  
  
  
They fell for it.  
  
Every one of them. I could see it in their eyes, in their voices. Hear it in their words. All so pathetically eager to believe that Angel is watching over us. Guiding us in our times of need.  
  
And it didn't even take any acting, really. They all act like they're so damn smart, but not one of them checked for a pulse. It was all a matter of letting my eyes lose focus and holding my breath for a couple of seconds. Childs play, and they bought it.  
  
The best part is, they wouldn't believe the truth if someone told them. Their sweet, innocent little Mimi? No, she wouldn't... Couldn't... Do anything like that! Not Mimi! God, these people think they're intelligent, but they can't see beyond the props set in front of them. Cattle, the lot of them.  
  
Why bother? Why not? Life's too boring to simply go with the flow. I lived below them for over a year without them noticing me. Watching and rolling my eyes. The were so damn *stupid*. It was like a bad soap opera. But the more laughable they became, the more I wanted to get into their little group. Direct the soap opera myself, from the inside, if you will.  
  
So it came down to deciding who to latch onto. The toss up between Mark and Roger. With Benny as a fringe benifit. Not much of a difference between any of them, really. Mark would have been easier to lead around by the nose, I suppose. But bad enough that he's always got his camera trained on life as if passes him by. I couldn't chance chosing him and making a mistake big enough for even him to notice, captured on film. With Roger, I could skim over the mistakes, if I made them.  
  
But Roger turned out to be the right choice. With equiptment and luck, Mark might someday be able to come up with a finished product that's marginally intelligent. Roger has no such hope. Relying only on himself to create the lyrics and music. Not only is he boring, but the man cannot write! That song he's so proud of is such garbage that I was hard pressed not to burst out laughing.  
  
Which brings be back to *that* night. I'd had enough of their dysfunctional little 'family', and made myself scarce when Roger ran off to San Antonio, or wherever. I wouldn't have hooked up with them again at all, if I hadn't seen Maureen and her woman of the hour cut through the park. So I thought quick and curled up on the ground. They fell for that, too. Believing exactly what I wanted them to believe.  
  
They took me back to the loft, and I had a brainstorm while whatshisname was singing that wretched song. He loves me? Touching. Plans can change. I pretend to die, then suddenly 'come back' to them, with a quaint little story about having a vision of Angel. Sure, now I have to stick around for awhile longer, but I knew they'd go into raptures. The joke had been getting stale, but now I have a feeling that there are a few more laughs to be had here.  
  
So I'll stick around. Milk this for all I can. And when things get boring again? Well, if I don't come up with some other twist by then, I'll just slip away and let dear Roger wither. Or maybe camera boy will cheer him up. I know he'd jump at the chance. Which just makes me want to put off leaving even longer.  
  
Yeah, it's cruel.  
  
Such is life.  
  
  
A/N: I don't know why, or where it came from. I love Mimi, but it just stuck in my head and circled there. For better or worse, I had to write it down. A bit strange, I don't like writing in 1st person, but... *shrugs* 


	2. Life is Pain

Disclaimer: Not mine.  
  
I don't think she'd notice me at all if I weren't screaming.  
  
Everyone seems to think that this is just how I am. Loud and demanding and occasionally helpful. Easily overlooked. Sometimes it's even helpful that they feel that way. It saves a lot on explanations. And Maureen certainly takes it for granted. But then, she's always taken everything about me for granted.  
  
I look at myself and hate the person, the shrew, that I've become. I hear my strident voice, feel my face screw up in anger, and want to just scream. How can anyone be worth this? How can I love her when I hate what I've done to myself just to make her see me standing here?   
  
But I do love her. Even with her eyes roaming for her next victim, the next in line to dazzle with her smile and her energy. Even when I'm supposed to be so damn intelligent with my Harvard degree and job at the law firm. I'm not smart. If I were smart I'd tell her to turn that megawatt smile onto herself as I walk for the final time out that apartment door.  
  
Somehow, though, I find myself roped in. Surrounded by the people who are her friends, situated in her neighborhood. Playing nice with her ex-boyfriend every other minute while the world revolves around her. While playing the dutiful shadow until she decides to tout me out as a shining example of how very bohemian her lifestyle and choices are.   
  
Shadows, however, don't scream and curse and stomp their feet and threaten to walk away and never look back. So perhaps the 'dutiful' part is a bit off the mark. When her eyes stray one too many times, when our personalities clash to such an extreme that I can take no more. Something has to give, and nearly invariably it's me. Me who starts it, and me who comes crawling back to the loft or the Life to put it back together.  
  
Today the screaming stops.  
  
Today I discover if Maureen even notices that her newest 'Pookie' exists in the same reality. Hell, today I discover if any of the people here who are supposed to care notice at all. In a twisted sort of humor, I assume that Mark will notice. That hurts too. Being pressed up close and personally on a near daily basis with the original 'Pookie'. And yet I can't help but appreciate even the small morsels of compassion and understanding he tosses my way. He's been here. Survived the fallout, even.   
  
How pathetic is it when a college dropout, unemployed starving artist can get by better than me? Toss that onto the list of grievances, the list of wounds that need to be bandaged.   
  
Yes, it hurts. But you know what they say.  
  
Life is Pain.  
  
A/N: Remember me? *smiles* This one didn't come out nearly as easily or smoothly as the other. But I have an idea, and Joanne had to have her say before I could move on. Flame away, up next is Mark. And hopefully he'll be better. Ah, so good to be back. 


	3. Pain Is Everything

Sometimes the only thing that reminds me that I'm alive is pain.  
  
It doesn't have to be physical. That's almost too easy. A nearly gentle jab with the edge of a razor, a few drops of blood. Enough of a sting to let me know that I'm still among the living. Easy enough that if I keep at it, it'll have to be more. Deeper, wider. And I'm not so far gone that I can't see how badly that could turn out. So I leave that for when I'm truly desperate.  
  
Mental pain is harder to come by. Not because they won't be forthcoming upon demand, but because I tend to fade to the background. 'There's Mark with his camera again.' The words almost fond, before I become as inanimate as the object I hold.   
  
Once and awhile, though, someone will come through for me. Notice me there silently filming away from my little corner of the loft. Roger is especially good at it. He knows me so well, I'm almost sure he says the things he does just to make me feel. I'm sure he knows about pain, and how it can be everything. Everything that keeps you sane and *there*.   
  
I'm sure he wouldn't say it, otherwise.  
  
It's little jabs, usually. Skin deep, just enough to feel. A tossed off joke about becoming one with the camera, the wall, the chair. About remembering to recharge my battery, as though I am the camera, and don't simply hold it. Things that earn a smile or laugh from the others, and that matters just as much as the rest. Seeing them laugh, even if it is at my expense. Especially if it is. Then it means that in a convoluted way, I've made them happy. Laughter doesn't work like hurting, but it's better than nothing. Better than numb.  
  
Sometimes he's more subtle. A touch, a carress. Brushing past when there's plenty of room to go around. Making me know he's there, and that he knows I'm there. Before moving on to Mimi and enveloping her. Eyes strangely knowing as he rests his chin on her shoulder from behind and watches me from the corner of his eyes. I'm sure he knows the pain twists deeper, then. With a tinge of bitterness and jealousy that makes it that much more real. I know he does it to help me.  
  
I'm sure he wouldn't do it, otherwise.  
  
Maureen is too flakey to truly know what she's doing. Her words barely penetrate, any longer. Collins can spar, but steps back from wounding. If he knew what I couldn't feel, he'd be horrified. I don't want to hurt him, any of them. I don't want them to know. That my body feels as though it's fallen into a stupor, dragging my mind with it. Enveloped, numb. Tugged towards oblivion. Insecurity fades, but with it life and love and hope. It seems too heavy a price.  
  
It would be so easy.  
  
A quick heavy swipe. Another room of red to be discovered by the unsuspecting. I wonder if I would be immortalized in song. It's the true agony of fear that I *wouldn't* be that is the greatest. The one I rarely think about, but never fails to bring me back, if only for a little while.  
  
It is a pain I embrace. Sometimes, there's nothing else.  
  
Sometimes, pain is everything.  
  
A/N: *sighs* I've missed tormenting Markie. :) 


End file.
